


Dance With Me

by missrosehaven



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Dance partners, Dancing, Friendship, Gen, Servant mistress relationship, gay best butler
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:28:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24250591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missrosehaven/pseuds/missrosehaven
Summary: When Lady Mary’s husband Henry is not able to attend a ball in Italy, her eyes fall to her butler Thomas Barrow.
Relationships: Mary Crawley/Henry Talbot, Thomas Barrow/Richard Ellis
Comments: 4
Kudos: 97





	1. Chapter 1

“Drat!” Lady Mary Talbot said under her breath, coming as close to swearing as was polite as she hung up the telephone receiver in their deluxe hotel suite in Florence, Italy.

Thomas Barrow looked up questioningly as he balanced his laden silver tray.

“Papa and Henry ‘missed’ their train,” Mary explained to both her butler and her mother. “They’re staying away another night.”

“Darling,” Cora sympathised. “That’s quite a let down for you. I know how much you were looking forward to the ball tonight. I suppose we won’t be attending now.”

“Perhaps _you_ won’t be Mama, but _I_ still plan on going,” Mary declared with a fighting spirit. “Surely where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

“But all on your own? Without a dance partner? Surely that’s no fun,” Cora said. “When we hardly know anyone here. What if you end up standing on the edge of the dance floor all alone? That won’t lift your spirits. You’ll feel even worse.”

“And is it decorous for none of us to attend after being invited so graciously?” Mary asked bitingly. How dare her mother imagine her not asked to dance! She wasn’t _Edith_ , for God’s sake.

“I suppose not. Must I really go with you Mary? To be honest I’d quite like a night in for once.”

“Then have one, Mama. _You_ can’t help me when it’s a dance partner I need. Blast that Henry! He _knew_ how much I wanted this night. We haven’t danced properly in ages!”

“Surely, Lady Mary,” Thomas deadpanned, “you know men _other_ than your husband who can dance. I can’t imagine _you_ short of a dance partner at a ball, even in Italy.”

“Oh surely...” Mary replied, grateful for Barrow’s comment even if it were a shade sarcastic, but vexed that no names sprung to mind. When had she become so desperate for want of male company? It was so complicated now that practically all her friends were married and boring and had declined to join them abroad.

“What about Lady Meredith’s husband,” the butler casually suggested yesterday’s lunch guest, as he continued in his duties.

Cora’s face brightened. “Oh yes! He seemed very friendly. I remember he expressed disappointment that his wife was too pregnant to attend. Perhaps he’d take you out, dear?”

“I’m sure he would. I’m also sure Meredith would never speak to me again,” Mary pointed out archly. “Besides,” she added with blunt certainty, “he can’t dance.”

“How do you know?” Thomas asked with a frown, wondering what insight she had. “Have you seen him try?”

“I don’t need to. I can tell,” Mary claimed nebulously.

“How?” Thomas asked, genuinely curious.

“It’s crystal clear from the way he moves. Did you not notice?” She shuddered involuntarily, remembering the awkward stiffness with which he’d cut his steak.

“I hardly saw him move,” the butler said as he attended to Cora’s request for more wine.

“Exactly!” Mary trumped him. “I’d rather stay home than be stuck with that lump of wood. Or any other partner with two left feet. I may well have to,” she declared despairingly, as the obliging butler refilled her glass. “Unless I pick up a perfect stranger off the street.”

”We wouldn’t let you do that, now would we, milady?” Thomas assured her dryly. “A strange man off the street - who knows what kind of a pervert he might be.”

”You don’t know how desperate I am,” Mary claimed, dramatically facetious.

“Not that desperate,” Thomas Barrow assured, deftly refilling her glass with a movement of graceful fluidity. “Not if I can help it.”

Mary’s gaze narrowed as she studied him. During their conversation he’d been flitting deftly around the room, clearing, tidying and serving their wine with a subtle unobtrusive elegance, very light on his toes. Her eyes lit up. “Perhaps you can.”

Finding himself the object of her penetrating gaze, Thomas straightened himself. He could detect a scheme brewing in her head. “What are you thinking, milady?”

She mused. “As a footman you always made the most of the Christmas ball at Downton, I recall. You’ve not forgotten how it’s done, I hope?”

“How what’s done? Being a footman?” Thomas asked blankly. Had he been wrong in presuming himself finally safe from the threat of demotion?

“Don’t be absurd!” Mary laughed abruptly.

Thomas frowned, finding himself the brunt of Mary’s irritation was never pleasant, but something he felt resigned to endure, not often but repeatedly.  


“Mary,” Cora chided. She was ever disapproving of Mary’s occasional harsh words to any of the servants (usually their butler). “She means dancing, Barrow,” Cora explained kindly. “You always did seem to enjoy it.”

“Of course that’s what I meant,” Mary agreed. She paused before revealing, “ When I accepted this invitation, I said I’d attend the ball with my husband Henry. But it happens that no one who will be there tonight has actually met him.”

Cora stirred warily. “Mary, what on earth are you suggesting?”

She responded with a sly curl to her lips. “They don’t know Henry has brown hair rather than black, or hazel eyes rather than grey, or that he stands six foot one and a half inches rather than...” she looked Thomas up and down, sizing him up.

“Six foot one and a half,” Thomas Barrow revealed his own height to her a little self conscious of the coincidence and what Lady Mary might read into it.

Mary’s expression showed surprise then utter satisfaction. “Perfect.”

“High praise, milady. Thank you,” Thomas drawled. “But I think the noble lords and ladies might be more than a little surprised by his northern accent.”

Mary rolled her eyes dismissively. “Nonsense! You can posh it up, Barrow. I _know_ you can! Didn’t Ioverhear you and Anna impersonating Papa in the servant hall just before we left the Abbey?”

Barrow glanced at Mary, alarmed and scandalised. Cora shook her head subtlety signalling to her daughter that she shouldn’t have called their butler out like that.

“I didn’t mind,” Mary assured him. It had seemed to be in good humour. “I thought your impersonation captured him rather accurately in fact.”

Still Barrow grimaced before recovering. “Well,a light-hearted jest is one thing, Lady Mary, but...”

“But what?”

The butler looked vexed before confessing. “If you’re _truly_ suggesting, as I believe you are, that I impersonate Mr Talbot at the ball tonight... You should understand that... that I could never _enjoy_ having to pretend to be someone I’m not.”

There was silence. Having got those words out, Barrow seemed rather nervous as to how his words would be taken, vulnerable almost, as if he’d almost bared his soul.

Mary’s fanciful scheme deflated and she struggled to take in what had just happened, and how on earth she’d inadvertently caused her butler to all but tear up right in front of her. “I wasn’t suggesting... I mean I _was_ , but... not against your will. I only thought it might be fun for you. Barrow, nobody’s forcing you to pretend to be someone you’re not....” Mary gradually cottoned on to the extent of truth in his words, and fell silent. All his life he was, in a way, forced to pretend to be someone he was not, she realised. “No, I don’t suppose you would. Enjoy pretending, I mean. There are many who’d relish the opportunity to pretend, but I realise now that’s never been you. Has it?” Mary, with sudden insight recognised the root of Thomas Barrow’s struggle - the need to hide the truth of who he was, always in conflict with his desire to show his authentic self.

“No, it hasn’t,” he confessed, turning away to the window though the curtains were drawn, his hands clenched. “I hate it.”

“I didn’t mean to suggest anything that would compromise your integrity, Barrow. The last thing I want is to put you in a situation that you find uncomfortable.”

“Is it?” Barrow asked sharply. Wasn’t she always deliberately doing just that?

Mary opened then closed her mouth, humbled. “It’s admirable,” she told him, “that you hold no desire to pretend. Only to be who you are. It shows a rare strength of character. I’m sorry for the things I say sometimes. Truly I am. I don’t mean to hurt you or anyone else. Or at least I’m ashamed of it when I do.”

“I know that, milady,” Thomas graciously accepted her apology as he’d become accustomed to doing. He came back from the window to attend to his duties, clearing their glasses. About to leave the room, he paused, strangely forlorn revealing quietly: “You are right about me, both of you. I do like dancing. Very much. I haven’t completely forgotten how.”

Equally surprised and intrigued, Mary simply stared at him until Cora nudged her, and she rose to her feet before he exited the room, mind made up. “In that case Barrow, I really must _insist_ you let me take you to the ball,” she declared. Barrow began to shake his head but she kept on insistently. “You don’t have to pretend a _thing_. We’ll arrive fashionably late, unannounced. You won’t have to speak to a soul if you don’t want to, except me. Only dance. Just be yourself and let them think whatever they like! Who cares? We’re in Italy for God’s sake! It’ll be fun - an adventure!” Mary persuaded. “That’s why you’re here, after all. It’s why we brought you along. To take your mind off things, get over your heartbreak...”

”My _what_?” Barrow interrupted, choking.

”Well we all know _you_ need cheering up as much _I_ do, don’t we Mama?”

“ _Do_ I? _Do_ we?” Barrow asked, indignant that his private life seemed not as nearly as private as he tried to keep it.

_“_ For heaven’s sake Barrow, just say you’ll come! You _know_ you want to. _Please_?” Although Mary’s doe eyes had always worked on Carson, she hardly expected them to work on Barrow, but she had nothing to lose.

“Alright.” Barrow gave in awkwardly, almost bashfully. “What is life but a series of inspired follies,” he quoted George Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion with a sigh.

“Oh goody!” Mary jumped up in childlike joy. “That’s that spirit! Now let us go upstairs and get ready. We’ll need to coordinate your accessories with mine: I’ll be wearing silver and royal blue. Folly or not, you won’t regret this!”

“I think I’m starting to already,” the butler deadpanned to Cora who smiled sympathetically.

“Thank you, dear Barrow. You’re a braver and better man than we deserve and I wish you all the luck in the world tonight. And now I can go to bed early, thank goodness.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary and Thomas prepare to enter the ballroom.

“Should have hired a chauffeur,” Thomas noted, “or a taxi.” He handed the car’s door key back to Lady Mary, after securing all the doors, and watched as she placed it safely in her purse along with the ignition key. “That was the most nerve-wracking drive I’ve ever experienced.”

“Nonsense!” Now that it was over, Mary spoke with more bravado than she’d felt in the driver’s seat. “I knew what I was doing — most of the time.” The experience had left her flushed with exhilaration, but also chastened where her driving skills were concerned. “I suppose I never realised how much assistance Henry normally gives me. I’ve only driven with him beside me.”

“I would have been able to offer a little more help if the manual was in English,” Thomas apologised.

“You did help, Barrow! Imagine if you hadn’t located the head light switches, or used the handbrake when you did!”

“I’d rather not imagine.” Thomas shuddered. He was still feeling rattled. And a little inadequate, or at least worried that Mary might think him so. “I know how to drive in theory. Haven’t had opportunity for practice, is all. Let alone in a foreign country in a borrowed European car.” Thomas was defensive about about his decision to decline taking the wheel himself.

“If you like, I’ll ask Tom or Henry to give you some lessons once we’re home. But we figured it out,” Mary bucked him up. “And here we are safe and sound. That’s what matters.”

“Is the car safe and sound too?”

“Not a scratch,” Mary assured him.

“Because I think you’ll find that’s what matters most to Mr Talbot.”

They shared a glance of acknowledgment at the truth of that before Mary announced, “Shall we?” holding out her arm for him to lead her to the mansion’s entrance.

Thomas adjusted his top hat. “Are you quite sure I look...” he began.

“You look, as I said in the bedroom, as dashing as one could wish of a gentleman!” Mary spoke over him.

Thomas lowered his gaze a little bashfully. She had indeed already told him so, he remembered, when he’d shown her how the altered hat looked on him, upstairs in her hotel bedroom. She’d insisted they got ready together, as she needed someone to fasten her dress and jewellery properly and Cora had turned in for the night. Mary also insisted he try on Henry’s coat and top hat because they matched her own outfit. The problem had been that Henry’s top hat was a size too small for Thomas, so Mary had fetched her father’s hat instead. The fit was much better. Unfortunately, the band on Lord Grantham’s did not have the same silk sheen that Henry’s did, designed to perfectly compliment her own outfit. “I believe I could swap the bands without too much trouble,” Thomas had offered after inspecting the two hats carefully. “There should be enough spare length beneath the bow, that it will fit the bigger hat without showing a gap. “Oh, could you?” Mary had appreciated his solution and had praised the results, complimenting Thomas’s perfectly aristocratic appearance in the finished product.

Now, dressed in a combination of his own, Mr Talbot’s and Lord Grantham’s clothes, Thomas appeared as perfectly put together as any gentleman.

“Are you ready?” Mary asked.

“If _you_ are, milady,” he deferred.

“How do _I_ look?” She posed glamorously, showing off her sharp bob, geometric gown and fur coat, all a picture of the latest high fashion trends. When Thomas only nodded, she teased him. “No flattering words for me? A lady likes a compliment, you know.”

“I’m seldom called upon to compliment a lady,” Thomas apologised awkwardly, before coming out with his considered response. “Your style, as always, my Lady, in fact your very being, down to the smallest detail, is the epitome of elegance itself.”

Mary’s laugh was silver. “My word! You should be called upon more often!”

Pleased to have pleased her, Thomas Barrow took a deep breath and held out his arm. Mary took it, and breathless with anticipation of the night ahead, they ascended the marble steps together.


End file.
